


this is not a dream

by peterparkr



Series: Febuwhump 2020 [3]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Tony Stark Needs a Hug, Whump, febuwhump 2020, this is basically just a relay through Tony's greatest fears
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-03
Updated: 2020-02-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:20:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22544671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterparkr/pseuds/peterparkr
Summary: “This is really funny, Mr. Stark. You got me.” Tony can tell that Peter’s aiming for light, but he misses the mark—a slight waver underneath the words. “Can we turn the lights back on?”“I’d love to. Unfortunately, I have to figure out what’s going on first.”Febuwhump Day 3: Living Nightmare
Relationships: Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Series: Febuwhump 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1620064
Comments: 7
Kudos: 189





	this is not a dream

“I’m sorry, Mr. Stark, but you can’t like that stuff,” Peter says. “It looks like swamp water. And with pizza? Gross—just gross.”

Tony takes a long sip of his green smoothie and gives Peter his most stern look over the curve of the glass. “Says the idiot drinking a glass of milk.”

“What’s wrong with milk?”

“Nothing on cereal—but a glass of it? Who hurt you?”

“Do you want a list? It’s quite long actually—”

The lights in the tower drop. It’s not just the lights. The slight whir that appliances emit as power surges through them is missing too. Tony can feel the lack of ambient noise like a buzz throughout his skin.

“FRIDAY?” 

“Y—Boss?” The AI’s voice stutters and fades into a garbled mess.

Tony curses under his breath. He shoves the last bit of pizza crust into his mouth and stands. His chair screeches across the floor—seemingly louder in the dark silence.

“This is really funny, Mr. Stark. You got me.” Tony can tell that Peter’s aiming for light, but he misses the mark—a slight waver underneath the words. “Can we turn the lights back on?”

“I’d love to. Unfortunately, I have to figure out what’s going on first.”

The tower has run smoothly on arc reactor technology for years. No one—nothing should be able to cut its power. Even more concerning is FRIDAY. If someone has enough access to shut her down then they have everything. 

“You’re serious? This isn’t you?”

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “No, Peter. This isn’t me.”

“Oh wow, okay. So what should we—”

The lights flick back on as quick as the room was plunged into darkness.

The chair where Peter was sitting is empty. Tony looks frantically around the rest of the kitchen. Everything looks normal—except the distinct lack of a sixteen-year-old boy.

“Peter?”

“Mr. Stark? Where are you?”

His head automatically turns to the voice. It sounds far-away, weak, almost strangled.

Tony calls his name again, taking a few steps toward the hallway—the one that Peter’s voice seems to be coming from. He doesn’t get very far when another call—this one even quieter, but most definitely _behind him_ reaches his ears. He whirls around.

There’s nothing. Except—

A single spider, no larger than a centimeter wide, descends on its web until it’s a mere inch from Tony’s face. He goes cross-eyed staring at it. It’s legs twitch like they’re paddling through the air until it stops right across from Tony’s nose. The front legs extend like they’re reaching out for help. 

Tony takes a step back and follows the line of the web up to the ceiling. It disappears into a dark stain that seems to be expanding outwards. He squints up at it. There’s an oddly shaped section in the center that’s darker and a lighter outline. It almost looks like his faceplate.

A droplet hits the corner of his eye. He blinks rapidly and brings a hand up to wipe it away. When he looks down, the tips of his fingers are red.

“Peter?”

The response isn’t a voice, but a scuttling sound above him, like a million feet dashing back and forth on their tiptoes on the floor above.

He looks up and the stain erupts into a flurry of movement—black dots seeping outwards from the center. A few start to fall. Tony throws his hands up and starts backing away, but he doesn’t make it far enough before there are spiders all over him, little legs scurrying over his skin. He gasps and starts batting them away. In his haste to rid himself of them, he squishes a few. They let out human-like shrieks under his palms.

He stumbles out of the kitchen, in the direction of Peter’s original voice. Where the hallway should be, there’s a wall. Tony stops just short of it.

“This isn’t real,” he says.

“Are you sure, Sir?”

Tony blinks once and the room around him flickers. For an instant he swears he’s back in Malibu, his old house. There’s his mom’s piano and Pepper’s favorite couch and the view of the ocean out the window. Then the tower comes back into view. 

“JARVIS?”

“Hello, Sir.”

“Ben, please, no—”

Tony cocks his head to the side. “Peter?”

The floor starts to shake. Tony falls sideways. His body seems to twist and turn on the way and his shoulder rams into the wall. He grunts in pain, grabbing for it with his other hand.

The wall is now the floor, like gravity shifted underneath him. He leans his head back against it, trying to still his racing heart.

“J, what’s going—“

There’s a shrill scream behind him. It sounds too much like Peter. Tony’s never heard him scream before. 

The building starts to tremble again. Gravity shifts back to normal, and Tony rolls down the wall, landing in a heap on the floor. He pushes his upper body off the ground, turning his head back and forth, searching for Peter. 

All he sees is a pile of rubble, shaken loose from the floors above collapsing down. There’s a red-clad hand sticking out from under the rocks. He can see the button of a webshooter on the palm.

“No,” Tony breathes.

Just like with the Vulture, Tony wasn’t there. This time he hadn’t been lucky. 

“Peter.” Tony tries to stand, but there’s a tug in his chest that holds him back.

He looks down. There’s a metal casing, a circular blue-white glow—an image that once became so familiar that it was almost comforting, but now is so foreign. A wire snakes out of it, attached to a clunky old car battery on his right.

He inhales sharply, runs his hands along the wire, until he reaches the battery. His fingers fumble over it as he tries to pick it up. He tucks it under his arm and struggles to his feet.

The rock pile is gone, Peter along with it. The tower is gone too—sleek, white walls replaced by dull gray and muted brown.

Tony swallows and takes a deep breath. He holds it for a minute, willing the cave to disappear. It doesn’t. He takes a step forward and finds his leg heavy, landing with a thud in front of him. He looks down. It’s encased in metal, so is the rest of his body. The original suit.

“You’ve made a lot of mistakes, Sir.”

There’s someone laying against the wall of the cave. Tony takes a few unsteady steps over to them. There’s blood and dirt and a pair of glasses. He picks up his pace, reaching out. Just before Tony can touch him, Yinsen fades away, disappearing into nothing.

“So many mistakes, Sir.”

There’s a roaring sound above him. He lifts his head hesitantly and a gaping hole has replaced the top of a cave—beyond it are stars and ships and flying chitauri. One of his hands clutches around the arc reactor and the other comes up to cover his eyes.

“Not real,” he mumbles.

It has all the makings of a dream—the shifting scenery, the non sequiturs, his greatest fears.

“Still don’t think so?”

The ground falls from below Tony’s feet. He plunges into water, crisp and cold. His eyes fly open, but everything is murky green and gray tones. He spins in a circle, but each direction looks the same. He swims one way, and knocks into a wall, or is it the floor? He goes another way—up, he thinks it’s up. It has to be up because he needs air. He pushes his arms through the water as hard as he can, lungs starting to burn. The water’s endless. He needs to _breathe._

His mouth opens, drawing in water before he can stop it. He’s sucking so much of it in, choking on it—spluttering. And then someone tugs on his hair harshly, pulling his head out of it. He looks down into the bucket of water and then up at his captor. He sees a gray beard and a bald head, a shark-like grin.

He reaches up, hands shaking. The grin only widens. 

“Obie, please.”

He laughs and pushes him forward. Then Tony’s tumbling head first through the bucket—falling down, down, down, through air this time—at least he can breathe.

“Tony!” 

He looks left and Pepper falls past him, hand outstretched. He reaches for it, their fingers brushing for an instant, but not enough to hold on. 

There’s a disturbance on his right, then a voice in his ear. “Tony, I’m flying dead-stick.” And there’s the war machine armor, tumbling and twisting past him. Tony grabs at him, but doesn’t even make contact this time.

They’re both falling. Tony’s falling, too. But, they’re falling faster.

He slams into the ground, face first, feels a sickening crack as his nose is jammed to the side. He heaves a ragged breath through his mouth and tries to roll over.

“Mr. Stark?!”

“Peter!” His eyes fly wide, scanning his surroundings.

Instead of the kid, there are bodies all around him. There’s Pepper and Rhodey and Happy and the whole team, lying limp, unmoving. Tony gasps and covers his mouth to hold back a sob.

There are hands on his shoulders, but he can’t see anyone in front of him. “Mr. Stark!”

He tries to slide backwards, but he’s paralyzed in place, a buzzing sound next to his ear.

“Oh, Tony.”

He blinks and it’s Obadiah looming over him, hands clasped firmly on his shoulders, then moving up to the sides of his head, laying it back almost gently.

“You always were so selfish—look where it got you.” He gestures around at the unmoving bodies.

He takes a contraption out of his pocket, holds it up so that the light glints off the metal. Tony’s heart starts beating impossibly faster—-the only part of him that seems able to move. Obadiah lowers it slowly, approaching the arc reactor. 

A surge of adrenaline spikes through Tony and suddenly his muscles regain their abilities. He starts scrambling backwards. His hands dig into something sharp—broken glass, he realizes—as he pushes himself up to his feet.

“Stay still, Tony,” Obadiah admonishes. “How many times do I have to tell you to—”

“Stay still!” That’s Howard’s voice—Tony’s eyes blow wide. He keeps backing away, he has to protect the arc reactor. “For god’s sake, Tony, stop fidgeting, dammit! Just sit still, for _once._ ”

“I’m sorry,” Tony chokes out between sobs. “Please, I’m sorry.”

“Mr. Stark, stop!”

There are hands near him, too close to the arc reactor—Obadiah’s going to take it out again. Tony can’t let him.

He hears a gun-shot and some scuffling sounds, a few grunts and shouts. The only person he can see is Obadiah, sneering down at him. He keeps backing away. Then one of his feet lands on nothing—just air and he’s falling backwards. He screams and reaches up, clutching for the broken edge of the penthouse’s balcony. He finds purchase, grips the side as tight as he can. 

He gasps for air, heart pounding. He looks down—it’s a mistake. He can see cars crawling along the street, a few people walking on the sidewalk. The cars look like toys from here, the people just dots. He tears his eyes away and tries to swing his body so that his other arm is on the ledge, too. Then he might be able to pull himself up.

“Mr. Stark?”

Intense relief surges through Tony when Peter crouches over the ledge, wide eyes staring down at him. 

“Peter,” he breathes. He thrusts the hand that’s not holding on upwards, reaching in desperation.

Peter’s eyes shift to it, then back to Tony’s face. He looks a little shell-shocked.

Tony’s fingers are starting to ache, his whole arm shaking with the effort of keeping himself connected to the building. “No offense, kid, but can we speed this up? Not sure how much longer I can hold this."

Peter _finally_ moves. Tony expects him to grab his wrist, but instead he stops his hand just above Tony’s and rubs his fingers together.

“Pete,” Tony says. “What—”

He plucks Tony’s pinky finger off the edge, face never changing from the earnest, bewildered expression.

“Peter—stop.”

He does the next one in a similar fashion. Tony winces at the extra force on his remaining fingers. They’re starting to cramp. He struggles to place the first two fingers back on. Peter’s face shifts into a disapproving scrunch and he quickly rips them back off.

Tony feels tears starting to stream down his face. “Please, don’t, please.”

He doesn’t understand why Peter’s doing this. Or maybe he does. Maybe Tony deserves it—especially after all the mistakes he's made with Peter. He never should have taken away the suit. Hell, he probably shouldn’t have given him the suit in the first place—enabling a vigilante minor is a sure way to get them killed. Maybe Peter’s finally realized that the only thing Tony can do is hurt him.

Peter’s face turns completely blank. He places his index finger on the nail of Tony’s middle finger. His head tilts to the side, then he flicks it and it slips off the edge. Tony manages to hold on with just his index finger and thumb for a second longer, enough time to meet Peter’s eyes, before starting to fall away.

He squeezes his eyes shut because he’s a coward. He doesn’t want to see the ground approaching.

A hand curls around his wrist. Tony’s whole body rocks back and forth, dangling in the air. He looks up slowly. It’s still Peter, but this time, his eyes are rimmed in red.

“Peter?”

The kid reaches down with his other hand and taps Tony’s chest twice. There’s a metallic _clink clink_. Panic races through Tony. He starts twisting, trying to get away. He’ll die if he squirms out of the grip holding him. He’ll also die if they take the arc reactor.

The hand releases him, and he’s falling, waving his arms around, as if he’s in the water again instead of the sky.

The top of the tower transforms into space, the edges of it fuzzy like the wormhole. He can’t tell if he’s falling into it or out of it. All he knows is that the arc reactor is flickering.

Something hits his chest, stopping him short. It’s covering the arc reactor. Tony gasps and starts clawing at it, trying to pry it off.

“Mr. Stark? Mr. Stark!”

It takes him a second to recognize the webbing attached to his chest. Another few to process the lack of arc reactor glow beneath it. He follows the line up to the penthouse’s balcony. Peter’s face is poking out over the landing—hand grasping the other end of the web.

Tony can’t produce coherent thoughts. He sputters a few times and then wraps his hands around the web, squeezing it tight.

“Mr. Stark? Are you okay?”

Tony closes his eyes and presses his head against the line. He starts counting between breathes, trying to slow them.

“I’m going to pull you up, okay?”

“Don’t—please don’t drop me.”

“I won’t. I’ve got you, Mr. Stark.”

The tremors running through his hands become harsher—so much that he loses his grip on the web. His upper body falls backwards and he lets out an undignified yelp.

“It’s okay,” Peter says. “Almost there.”

Tony doesn’t want to look down at the ground. He also doesn’t want to look up at Peter. He keeps his eyes closed.

“I-is he—is he up there too?”

“I got him,” Peter says, voice closer now. ”Okay, you’re here. You can open your eyes.”

He cracks them hesitantly. Peter’s face is bloodied and bruised, lip fat and split down the center. Tony swallows hard and tries to reason with himself. The Peter who had pried his fingers off the ledge hadn’t been beat up like this one is.

Peter grabs his shoulder, to pull him over the edge. Tony automatically jerks it away, rolling to the side. He gasps as he falls a few inches.

Peter inhales sharply and catches the web. Tony jerks to a stop, bouncing in the air.

He floats back up the inches he lost. Peter’s forehead is creased with a combination of worry and confusion.

“I’m going to pull you over the ledge,” he says carefully.

Tony hesitates, but then nods and lets Peter haul him over.

His legs wobble an embarrassing amount as he tries to stand on the other side. Peter grabs his shoulder to steady him. Tony barely suppresses a flinch.

There’s shattered glass, upturned furniture, and smashed electronics throughout the penthouse. Tony’s eyes dart around and land on a single body on the floor—not a group like there had been before. It’s also not Obadiah, because of course it’s not. He’s been dead for almost a decade. Tony shivers, trying to shake away the remnants of the visions.

He walks over to the man. It’s still a familiar face, an old employee that Tony had to let go a while back because he seemed a little, well, unstable. Tony’s intuition is rarely wrong on such things anymore. He can add this to the list of triumphs. He wonders what it says about his life that calling the crazies before they try to kill him is considered triumphant.

“Quentin,” he says, working to keep his voice steady. 

The man glares up at him. He tries to sit up, but falls back instead, wincing. Peter must have done a number on him.

“This is what my invention could have done. This is the power it can have!”

Tony purses his lips like he’s taking a second to think. “Yeah, I’ll pass.” He turns to Peter and jabs a thumb at Quentin. “This guy actually thinks breaking into my home and causing this mess is going to get him back in?”

“It’s more than a therapy device, Stark. This is a _mistake_. Your whole life is just one after another and this is just the latest—”

A web envelops Quentin’s mouth, his eyes fly open in shock and then narrow in anger.

Peter’s leaning against the balcony, fiddling with his webshooter. “I hate when they talk too much.”

Tony forces himself to smile—attempt to forget about the whirlwind he just experienced. “Come on, kid. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Peter limps over and Tony starts to turn, trying to convince himself that it’s okay that Peter’s behind him— _it’s Peter for god’s sake, not someone to be afraid of, what Quentin made him see wasn’t real._ But then arms wrap around him and his whole body tenses.

“That was kind of scary,” Peter says, voice muffled against Tony’s shoulder.

Tony’s eyes flutter shut. Images assault his brain—of the cave, and space, Obadiah, Peter. He forces them back down.

“It was,” Tony agrees, hating the quiver in his voice. “But it’s over. You got us out of it, kid. Thanks.”

He pats Peter’s back awkwardly a few times, but the kid doesn’t take the hint. The embrace feels almost crushing, Tony’s lungs are shriveling up, heart picking up to an uncomfortable pace.

There’s a knowing smirk on Quentin’s lips. Tony can see it even through the web. He knew exactly what he was doing. Tony’s not going to let him win. He throws up his middle finger.

Peter pulls away, rubbing at his eyes and sniffling a little. Tony slings an arm over his shoulders, ignoring the fear that prickles through him at the contact. He shoots Quentin a pointed glare and leads Peter inside.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [tumblr!](https://peterparkrr.tumblr.com)


End file.
